


Step 3: Profit!

by Larathia



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Gen, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:46:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larathia/pseuds/Larathia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Begun for Talk Like A Pirate Day, but it's shaping up to be longer than I thought. Isabela and Zevran team up, post DA2, for a good old-fashioned treasure hunt in the name of fun and profit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Really, It's Totally A Genuine Treasure Map, I Swear

War is good for business, provided you're in the right business.

Isabela stood in the bow of the _Champion's Cup_ and grinned as it sliced the choppy waves. For an enterprising pirate, the mage rebellion was _excellent_ for business. Well, provided you didn't try docking at Kirkwall.

Which she had no intention of doing. The city was just cursed, she was pretty sure of that. Even the Champion couldn't hang on to a life there. Thankfully, at least to Isabella, she hadn't planned on settling down in the first place. No, a fast ship in a good wind under a clear sky - that was the way to go, and the sea hid all trails. All you needed was a valuable enough cargo to sell in port and pay the crew.

"Land ho!" called a scout from the crow's nest.

"Where away?" Isabela yelled back.

"Two points to port!" 

"Make for it!" Isabela ordered, pointing toward the helmsman, who saluted in answer and corrected course. "Raiders get your gear, ready the boats!" she added, and headed for her cabin.

Against the back wall, Zevran leaned, arms and legs both casually crossed. "Command suits you, my dear," he teased with a smile. "I could hear your dulcet tones through the door."

Isabela closed the door behind her and grinned back. "We all have our roles to play. We should be close enough to lower boats in a few hours if the lookout remembered my orders. Now. Your end of the bargain?" The tone held no uncertainty; she was asking if the inevitable betrayal would be now that Zevran had a shot of simply diving overboard and swimming to shore.

The assassin's smile didn't waver, elven hands gracefully moving to cover his heart. "You wound me to think I would forget," he said, teasing still, and removed an old parchment from within comfortable leather armor. He unfolded the map on Isabela's table, using candlesticks to hold the edges down. "As I promised, my dear. Naturally, I cannot retrieve such a _large_ treasure by myself. But I believe the resale value should cover any expense to your beautiful self and crew."

"That's _if_ your map proves genuine," Isabela noted, smiling still but letting the steel show under the velvet. "If it doesn't, that's rather a large expense. We've quite a steady income lately, raiding mage ships and templar ships. We've got a very fetching selection of national flags to fly under for both."

Zevran waved that deceptively delicaten elven hand again. "For the challenge as much as the gold, my dear," he said. "You and I have gold enough. But if it concerns you so very much," and he flashed a smile, knowing it didn't, not really, but that she did have certain appearances as a pirate captain to maintain, "then my word to you that I will see your most _devoted_ crewmen compensated for their time and trouble."

Isabela nodded, accepting that. The elf was many things, at least half of them in bed, but not a liar. Not without very, very good cause, anyway. His word was more of a bond than hers, if only because if he wanted you dead he really didn't need to lie to get it done. The main thing was that the venture could be treated as an adventure, without being concerned about a grumbling crew if the map didn't prove accurate. The average pirate crew was so refreshingly simple about money, but in certain respects could also be fun-killingly boring. 

She turned her attention to the map. An island near the edges of Tevinter waters, a ruin marked by wings on the tops of the pillars, only one of which was still whole enough to be seen from a ship.

"Think of what the Wardens will pay," purred Zevran, "for a live griffon egg."

She did, and grinned at the deep tingle in the pit of her stomach. Adventure, excitement, and _profit_. The best possible combination. And if not the Wardens, then the highest bidder. "It has to be preserved by magic," she said, dragging herself at least close enough to earth to get moving. Her fingers brushed over the map of the ruin. "And the magic would have to be undisturbed. So, underground. What do you think? Undead? Demons? Darkspawn?"

"Mmm, probably the latter two, if I am any judge," Zevran replied, coming to join her in studying the map. "The dwarves' roads go many places that seem unlikely, but the sea between here and the mainland is shallow enough, I think. And where there is magic, demons are always nearby. Your men, they are good with their blades?"

Isabela laughed, low in her throat. "Wouldn't you like to know," she answered. "And like I haven't heard you sheathing blades below decks. A captain could feel hurt at being left out, but," and was her turn to wave a dismissive hand, "it never pays for a captain to sleep with her crew. They're not Crows, if that's your measure. Better they stay here, just take as many as we'd need to secure the treasure. We'll probably have to protect them from whatever's in there."

"Far be it from me to bruise your tender, and no doubt forgiving, heart," Zevran replied, with just the lightest caress of fingertips against Isabela's cheek. "We will finish this job and perhaps I will be your cabin boy if the map proves false, no?"

That got the elf a raised eyebrow. He knew quite well what he was offering; indentured servitude as a sexual pet. Not that they hadn't had their nights together when the mood struck, so she knew he was offering value, but Zevran was no one's 'pet' - unless one collected sharks - and knew that quite well. He had to be _very_ sure of his sources, to make such a remark. 

A knock at the door got both of their attention. "Come!" Isabela ordered - causing Zevran to have a discreet coughing fit - and one of the deck hands entered. "Boats are ready, captain," he said.

Isabela nodded acknolwedgment. Smoothly, she removed the weights from the corners of the map, picked it up and folded it, tucked it away. "We'll need a full watch here, ready to raise anchor quickly. And a second team to watch the boats. Third to come with me, and they'd better be able to haul. Tell Carmen."

Carmen was the current first mate; Isabela didn't tend to keep them for long, it inevitably led to power struggles. The deckhand nodded and scooted off, and Isabela gestured to Zevran to precede her. "About half a dozen men should be enough. Especially if we take some netting."

"Agreed," said Zevran, heading out. 

On either side of the ship, crew were gathering and being efficiently divided into groups by the first mate; ship, shore, away party. As she saw Zevran and Isabela, she waved some vague equivalent of a salute. "Crew's ready, captain," she said in the flat tone that said she thought this was a bad idea. It made Isabela smile all the wider; it never stood a first mate in good stead to stand between the crew and profit, and what lowered Carmen's popularity tended to increase Isabela's own.

"Load a net," said Isabela, and a few of the deckhands quickly went to get one. She chose the starboard side boat and headed for it, gesturing to Zevran to follow. "Away group with me," she said, as the deckhands returned with the net, and half a dozen of the biggest crewmen headed over to her side.

"My, what big sailors you have," laughed Zevran, hopping lightly into the hanging, waiting boat. One or two wore proud smirks at the remark. 

Not to be outdone, Isabela matched the feat, and this time there were little 'ooo's from the crewmen, sensing an impending competition. None of them, however, seemed inclined to try the same trick; they hooked the boat and drew it toward the rail, tying it so as to board in a rather more sane manner. Once all six were aboard, Isabela looked across to the other boat and saw they'd done the same. 

"Boats away!" Isabela called, and the crew assigned to remain on board started lowering the boats to the water.

Both Isabela and Zevran remained standing on the rocking craft, keeping their balance easily. It got less comment as the boat touched the water, as the crew now had to row them to shore.

"Would you perhaps appreciate a competition, as neither of us takes pleasure in washing the blood and ash out of our armor?" asked Zevran mildly, as the shoreline neared.

"As a distraction?" asked Isabela, mulling the idea over. "What stakes? It's the gamble that makes it interesting."

"I've noticed your collection of daggers," Zevran replied, turning his attention toward the shore himself, which almost made him a living figurehead at the bow of the boat. "Perhaps you have in turn noticed mine. Shall we wager each one our best?"

Isabela mock-pouted. "I've more in my life and on my mind than the blade in my sheath," she said. "I'd even suggest I don't spare much time thinking about it at all. I'll agree, but only on condition that we change the prize if we find something more interesting in the ruin."

"Ah, you are as wise as you are beautiful, though I am terribly hurt that you have no kind word for my blade," teased Zevran, smiling as the crewmen hopped out of the boat, into the surf, to drag the craft ashore. He and Isabela hopped off the boat, onto the sand.

While Zevran studied the overgrown stone ruins ahead of them, almost entirely buried by the plant life, Isabela made sure the shore guard were clear on their duty; gather wood, build a fire after sunset, guard the boats. And if possible, gather any useful supplies for the ship they might come across, including drinking water. When she'd finished, she returned to her group of Zevran-and-six.

"Ready?" she asked brightly. 

Her crewmen eyed the overgrown ruins with the attitude of redshirts everywhere, but - with some reluctance - nodded. 

"Oh, stop quivering," said Isabela, cheerful just to the point of taunting. "We'll keep you alive. Someone's got to carry the treasure, after all."

"Indeed, I would never be so crass as to needlessly sacrifice such attractive and loyal men," said Zevran, and headed toward the nearest broken column. "You would not happen to be willing to share a look at the map again, would you?"

Isabela moved to join him, taking out the map. "Right here," she said cheerfully. Unfolding it, she turned the image to orient it. "That would be...dead ahead," she mused, indicating a landmark cipher on the page. She held the map up to the light to see if there were any useful watermarks. "Hm. Bit of a cheap treasure map."

Zevran, true to an assassin's training, all but disappeared from view as the group slipped under the shade of the clustered trees. "We shall see if it is, as they say, good enough for government work, no?"

Her crewmen started looking a bit edgy when they couldn't _see_ the ex-Crow anymore, so Isabela made a point of staying quite visible, and at the front, and walking with a suggestive sway to her hips. She didn't sleep with crew, but she found it generally useful to encourage their fantasies. Among other things, it kept their attention from wandering too far.

The 'landmark' turned out to be a griffon statue, or what was left of one; the head and wings were broken off and lying on the ground, almost entirely buried by plant life. Isabela studied the map, and then the statue. "I think it's facing that way," she said, pointing. "So we should find something there. Whatever's left."

"Thankfully, this island is not big enough to hide much in the way of grand ruins," Zevran noted from somewhere ahead of them. "And only birds for danger so far. I can _never_ clean gull out of my tunic. Even darkspawn have better manners."

Isabela grinned and set off after him, leaving her boys and the net to catch up. "I can't imagine a few white stains bothering you that much," she laughed.

There was a faint, wounded, kiss-sound from the trees ahead. "Again you wound me. There is such a thing as taste."

The ruin was fairly easy to see, once one got through enough trees. Not tall, but broad and overgrown with ivy and moss, it was clearly a stronghold at one point in time. _Whose_ stronghold, it was hard to say. Griffons were Gray Wardens, but some cursory investigation turned up the Chantry's sunbursts and even some Tevinter dragon-carvings. About the only group that had apparently not laid some kind of claim were the Qunari.

Zevran, now visible in the relative open, slanted a look toward Isabela. "The map seems to be honest so far."

"Still need to see if there's anything of value in here," Isabela replied. "Though if it's stable enough we might be able to use this island as a base. Depends on the Tevinter patrols." 

She waved toward her edgy crewmen. "All right boys. If we're attacked, I won't mind if you find somewhere to hide. We're here for gold, not medals. Let's go."


	2. Bones and Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up clues in a long, dark hallway. (Tempted to say they're lost in a maze of twisty corridors, all alike...)

The doors were massive, and curiously angled; not the vertical passage into a ruined hall, but the tilted door indicated stairs downward, like a cellar.

They were also locked, but despite the age of the mechanism, and the years of rust, this wasn't much of a hindrance for Zevran or Isabela. They each grabbed a door and hauled, pulling the doors open wide.

Cold, dank air spilled into the warm night. Pirate and assassin shared a look. _The veil_ , it said. Monsters, even darkspawn, generated heat. Scent. But demons were creatures of spirit, and left neither heat nor scent unless they were on fire. Abominations had become far more common since the war began in Kirkwall. Even Isabela's crewmen knew well the taste of the air where the Veil was thin.

She had the map, but no proof that it led to anything valuable. Profit depended on risk. Isabela turned to her men. "We will go first," she said, indicating Zevran and herself. "Follow at whatever distance you think safe, grab anything valuable you can. When you've got all you can carry, take it back to the men at the shore, and return here. We do this right, we can clear the whole place out and be gone before the Tevinter patrols catch sight of our sails."

She couldn't blame the men for looking relieved. They were good pirates when it came to ripping jeweled necklaces from the throats of wealthy merchant daughters, but demons were another order of trouble and not everyone had much experience dealing with them.

"Kind of you," Zevran noted, amused but quiet about it. "Shall we on?" he asked, drawing his knives.

"It does my reputation no good to have to replace my crew too often," said Isabela simply, drawing her own and heading in. "And if these men die, we're hauling our finds out ourselves. If I'm going to be dirty and covered in sweat, I prefer to have more fun first."

As before, once inside Zevran all but faded from view - but this time Isabela did so too; stone corridors and magical torches were much more her own turf. The stairs descended from the door into cool, dead-air corridors. Isabela's eye for treasure picked up the glint of gold leaf on urns, gold and silver candlesticks in stone niches, and she smiled. Perhaps not a huge profit, but properly melted into easily resalable ingots - each bit of loot got her closer to the break-even point past which all was fun and adventure. But she didn't gather it up herself; she and Zevran were to clear the way, and her crew would handle clearing anything with a resale value out of the place once it was safe.

That scent in the air, cold mist and ash that had no place on a tropical island...that was a problem. They had no mages with them. They could handle the abominations, but if there were magical traps...

"Do you keep in touch with the Warden-Commander?" asked Isabela, stepping carefully around a suspicious looking floor-stone. "We may need mages to strip this place."

Zevran, too, was stepping lightly, watching for traps and tripwires. There were more than a few old skeletons gently collapsing on the floor to give testament to the dangers. "I believe the commander is still in Amaranthine," he answered absently, "but will not stay so much longer. The Gray Wardens have been discussing a retreat, to let this war play out without them."

"You're kidding," replied Isabela, but not with any real shock. "Hold on. I want to get this tripwire trap broken." At chest height, it was highly unlikely her men could avoid it, especially if carrying a netful of loot. As she carefully used a knifepoint to pry the trigger loose, while holding it steady with her free hand, she said, "Don't the Warden mages have as much to gain as any other?"

"Ah, you know how it is with politics, my dear," replied Zevran, leaning against the wall as he waited. "Warden mages don't answer to any Chantry. And the Ferelden wardens, well, they have more reason than most to avoid meddling in these affairs. I think they will go down, into the Deep Roads, maybe clean out one of the old thaigs to use as a base while the humans get this business out of their systems. I suspect the Warden-Commander will go with them. Would you like a hand with that tripwire?"

"Nope, got it!" Isabela replied cheerily. The trip was pulled free, letting her cut the backing wire so the trap could not be set off. "We should probably disarm all those floor traps too, you know. I'd hate to see those gold urns get their gems knocked off in a blast. It's always a bother to find them in the crevices."

Zevran nodded, turning back to start doing that. "Quite a lot of traps, really," he noted. 

Isabela worked on disabling a pressure plate, and pursed her lips. Zevran was right, of course. Traps were a defensive measure; you didn't leave them in areas you went through frequently, the odds of friendly fire were too high. So many suggested this place had been under siege near the end of its time. Defenders arming traps as they retreated farther and farther into the heart of their fortress.

_Or_ , and she liked this theory even less, defenders driven slowly toward the gates as something forced its way from the center to the outer gate, the traps meant to slow or prevent something from escaping. She studied the bones in the hall, looking over their state.

"Ah, you are so beautiful when you are thinking, my dear." Zevran grinned. "You should try it more often. What is it?"

Isabela pointed toward the bones on the floor. "Look closely. Facing in, not out. Not looted - still in their armor, still holding their swords."

"Quite fetching too," the elf drawled. "And, even better, expensive. But I take your point." He squinted down the hall. "They died holding something off that was already inside, yes? Something not interested in gold."

Isabela nodded. "So. It killed these men. Where is it? Not in this hall. The traps haven't been tripped. Even the ones that _don't_ reset themselves."

Zevran looked back the way they'd come, where the sounds of Isabela's crew stripping the bones of their armor could be heard. Everything of value that could be taken, would be. Unfortunately, it meant clues as to what might be trapped here were also being destroyed, and telling that to the crew could well start a panic. "...Abominations step lightly," he mused.

"Agreed," said Isabela. "Better question - do you think a griffon's egg is really here?"

"The man from whom I obtained the map was quite certain in his belief," the elf replied calmly. "Certain it would let him claim a favor from the Wardens any time he chose. But what does that say?" He shrugged. "The Fade is thin here. But it would also take great magic to preserve a live griffon egg for centuries."

"Abominations suggest the great magic in question went wrong," Isabela noted dryly. "But we haven't been attacked yet, either. We can retreat."

"With only some old armor for a prize?" asked Zevran, putting a hand over his heart as if wounded. "We may need a mage. Perhaps a Warden mage?"

Isabela made a face. "If they help retrieve it, there goes our profit. A mage if we have to, but not a Warden mage. And let's wait until we know what we're dealing with. If it's just abominations, demons - we've both as much experience as any in dealing with those. It's risk and reward." She did, however, start tugging bones free of their armor, to make a line across the floor. "Oi!" she yelled back. "There are traps! Clear this place up to the bone line, don't cross it until we've called it clear, got it?"

There was a sudden silence down the hall, then some soft muttering. Then one of the men yelled back, "Got it, captain! We're on the second net!"

Isabela grinned at Zevran. "Greedy bastards," she said approvingly. "Bet they're even pulling out gold teeth." 

Zevran nodded, just as approving. "I appreciate knowing where I stand," he remarked, and started back down the hall. "They will be here. Traps or no traps, the air reeks of magic."

Isabela nodded, drawing her right-hand blade and trotting - carefully - to catch up. "Leave the traps armed, the boys won't cross the bone line. Let's see what's at the center of this rat maze."

The two rogues slid into the shadows, avoiding traps and studying the path before them. The halls were old, certainly. The decorations suggested long ownership by the Grey Wardens, perhaps dating back to the Second Blight. The carvings showed many griffons as well - if anything, more griffons than Wardens. Doors barred further passage; heavy, carved oak, bound in iron, and barred...from the outside. Isabela and Zevran shared a Look; it confirmed beyond doubt that the defenders had died trying to keep something _in_.

"Shall we?" asked Zevran cheerfully, indicating the beam barring the door shut.

Isabela nodded, grabbing one end. "Pull it quickly, and let's see if anything rushes out."

"Ah, my dear, abominations? They are not held by wooden beams so much," answered Zevran, sheathing his long knife to take the other end of the beam. The two counted to three and then hefted the heavy beam clear of its rest to bang onto the stone flooring. Both rogues had blades in each hand in a matter of blinks, watching the door for signs of something pushing against it.

Nothing came. They shared a look, then each grabbed one door handle and pulled.

There was a soft clatter of collapsing bones as bodies that had been piled against the doors sank to the floor unsupported.

Both rogues bent to study the bodies. Nothing left now but bones and dust, no way to see what had killed them, or how. But the way the bones were laid, it didn't take much to imagine men clawing their way over a pile of fallen comrades, trying to claw their way to an escape.

"These are old Warden uniforms," noted Zevran. "I have seen similar designs at Soldier's Peak." He frowned. "The Wardens, they do not turn tail and run."

"These did," Isabela noted, waving her hand at the bodies. "But...let's say you're right and Wardens are suicidally brave. Why weren't these Wardens?"

For the first time, Zevran looked...confused, nonplussed. "I could not say," he admitted. "They wanted out, to be sure, but there is nothing else _here_ , no monster bones, abomination ash...nothing. It cannot be darkspawn. Some new kind of demon?"

Isabela blinked. She rather thought she'd seen the full range already. But she was no mage, to be sure, and she'd more than once gotten the idea mages weren't nearly as sure as they made themselves out to be, anyway. "...Maybe?" she agreed. "Demons can get into even Warden heads, I'm sure."

Zevran pointed down the hall with one knife. "Let us see what made the Wardens afraid, yes? Magic is the only thing that makes sense to me."


	3. Pre-Emptive Paranoia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One thing you can say about these two rogues - they may be greedy, but neither one is stupid. "What, walk in so far that we have to fight an army of undead to get back out? What do you take us for?"

Answers were not forthcoming, at least at first. Corridor, bound door against which bodies were piled, and traps - lots of traps - between each section. But the corridor turned gently downward, a large and somewhat gentle spiral from which rooms radiated. Bedrooms - well, barrack-rooms really - in which little of value remained. 

Wardens battling Wardens - all fighting to escape, but not all being allowed to.

"Plague, perhaps?" Zevran guessed, turning some of the withered bodies on either side of a door, to compare them. "Abominations, they would raise these bodies."

"And a lot of people dying quickly in one location thins the veil," Isabela agreed. "But it could be that something's waiting for us to get in, all the way in, so we've disarmed everything and opened everything, and then it can walk out, and if it's an abomination it'll have all these bodies to bring its friends into."

Zevran frowned. "Sometimes, my dear, your imagination is not so pleasant. But. There is a way to test that, if we are willing to backtrack and disarm the traps. Have your men burn these bodies as they are stripped."

Isabela thought it over, and shook her head. "Success here depends on the Tevinter patrols _not_ knowing we're here until we've gone. We start building bonfires big enough to burn all these bodies, the smoke will be visible for a very long way away. We'll have _live_ company. Armed and unfriendly live company that will definitely outnumber us. We'll have to go with what we've got."

The two rogues considered their options. The call of adventure - particularly when it also offered a fine reward in terms of wealth and fame - was hard to dismiss. On the other hand, neither of them had survived this long by choosing losing battles. The thin Veil suggested that somewhere here might well be a tear. And even if it wasn't, it was thin enough that the moment either of them got into an actual fight with _anything_ , it stood a good chance of raising these (armed and armored) skeletons to do battle with them and the crew.

Isabela knew her crew. Solid in the face of a storm at sea, more than capable of cowing ocean travelers or merchant ships. They'd panic at an army of skeletons charging them with swords drawn, and - being entirely fair - she couldn't blame them. It had taken quite a long while traveling beside the Champion of Kirkwall before _she'd_ accepted that she could absolutely defeat an undead enemy. If these dead rose, she'd have to run very quickly to get back to her ship before her own crew sailed off just to get away from the undead.

On the other hand, she really didn't want to turn tail and run before anything had actually _happened_. These halls were full of unclaimed wealth. There had to be a way to deal with the danger.

Zevran seemed to be thinking along similar lines, poking at the bodies with the tip of one of his daggers in an absent sort of way, looking back and forth along the corridor. "Perhaps we shall be methodical about this, my dear?" he offered. "The smoke of the fires will not be as traceable at night, nor the fire visible from the shore if we choose a site carefully. We clear each section of traps, bodies, and loot during the day..."

"And burn the corpses and bones at night," Isabela finished. "Letting the boys party over everything we've picked up. And that way if there's something at the bottom, we can make sure it doesn't raise every corpse along the way to send after us. But that's - we've already covered enough ground, today, that if we take that approach we'll be docked here for _weeks_. There's no way my ship can avoid being spotted by a patrol for that long. Two, three days at most."

Zevran tapped his lip with a finger, nodding. "I had no idea these ruins would be so massive," he agreed. "Oh and don't melt the Warden armor, my dear. We can sell that back to the Wardens for more than the ingots would get us, and less questions. We may even be able to use it to obtain the services of a warden mage."

Isabela snorted, starting back the way they'd come. "And I keep telling you, no warden mages. We're wanting to sell the griffon to the Wardens. The price will plummet if they helped get it themselves. No, we'll find an independent. Someone who'd appreciate having a crew to protect them from the Chantry, but not interested in being a great freedom fighter or a conqueror."

Zevran nodded, stepping lightly to follow her. "Not a blood mage. Though they are not _all_ bad."

"Lately they have been," Isabela replied. "And I am not about to volunteer any of my crew for magical sacrifices. They get out of control too quickly."

"I defer to the lovely mistress," Zevran grinned, raising his hands in surrender. "So, you know where to find such a mage?"

"It shouldn't be hard," laughed Isabela, stepping lightly around a pressure plate. "Just see where the templars are looking. Get there first. An option for survival and freedom they don't have to fight every minute to keep? We don't even have to offer to pay them. At least, not up front."

"But it would be a good idea," Zevran mused, hopping over a tripwire. "Perhaps not more than everyone else, but a share of the goods. A man who is comfortable, he often does not wish for more than he has."

Isabela slanted a look at Zevran at that. "True. Better make sure the mage is a woman. I have enough trouble with crew thinking they can be my first mate by being my bedmate. Mages that decide to be stalkers are more trouble than they're worth."

"Indeed," Zevran agreed mildly. "I did hear about that. Some very disturbing things in Kirkwall, I must say. Why do people stay there? The decor, it is terrible."

"You mostly don't see the weeping slave statues after a while," Isabela replied, pushing one of the big doors closed again behind her. "And we destroyed at least half of them when Meredith animated them. So really, kind of an improvement there. Most of the people that stay are the most rabid anti-mage crowd these days. The templars in Kirkwall don't even imprison mages anymore. So, big thick walls and no mages that dare to show their power. But you do get mages trying to rip the walls down now and then. At least, they were the last time I was anywhere near there. I've steered clear."

Zevran just nodded at that, relaxing slightly as they crossed the bone line. Looking around he nodded approvingly. "Your men are most efficient. A maid could have just dusted here."

Isabela grinned. "There's money involved." As one of the crew came down the hall, she called, "This section clear?"

"Aye, captain," he replied. "What next?"

"Don't melt down the armor, or any of the enchanted weapons, we've got good buyers for those as is," Isabela ordered. "But melt down everything else into ingots. Don't want people figuring out this place is here. How much daylight do we have left?"

The sailor frowned. "Maybe four hours, captain."

"We'll clear one more corridor then," said Isabela. "Dig a pit somewhere the fire will be out of sight, and when you've stripped the bodies dump the bones in the pit. We'll use the fires to melt down the goods and be off in the morning." At her crewman's confused look, she said, "This place is _huge_. We need to clean it out without alerting the Tevinters it's here. And we're going to need a mage. Tell the others, because I want a mage we're not going to have to throw overboard."

The sailor saluted - well, he made a good attempt at saluting - and repeated, "Aye captain!" in an enthusiastic but terribly confused tone, before running back out to spread the word.

"Good men but - my dear, you must be terribly starved for good conversation," observed Zevran wryly, and turned back to eye the corridor. "Shall we be about it then? One more trip through, just to the next set of doors, so they can clear it out properly."

Isabela, too, noted the stretch of corridor before the doors. "Now it's just work," she sighed. "Tell you what. Whoever clears the most traps gets to watch everyone else make dinner."

The elf cracked his knuckles by lacing his fingers together and stretching them. "I do believe you have a bargain," he said cheerfully.


	4. Sailing, Sailing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And discussions of persuasion.

Isabela won the trap-removing contest, albeit by only one trap. She wasn't _entirely_ certain she'd won on her own merits - Zevran was a socially sensitive sort, and it was rarely a good idea to show up a captain in front of her crew - but she was willing to accept that, fair or no, Zevran wasn't contesting the victory.

Besides. The Antivan was an _amazingly_ good cook. Whatever training the Crows gave their assassins was decidedly top-notch, and the crew happily used their part of the bonfire to melt down anything that didn't look like it would have a high resale value. By third watch, it was clear that the trip had turned a profit - and if it wasn't as high a profit as they had hoped for on arrival, at least it had come with neither pain nor losses. And Zevran was a remarkably good morale officer, taking the less-thrilled crewmen to bed with him.

Isabela didn't mind. While she was as happy with a threesome as the next captain, her mind was already on the problem of securing a mage. A good one would be needed - not morally speaking, but in terms of talent. Something _strange_ was trapped in this place. Something that had slaughtered scores of Wardens and terrified the rest into running, setting ring after ring of traps to prevent it ever getting out. They couldn't just ask the crew if any of them happened to have a mage cousin or sibling. They'd need a Dalish Keeper, or a trained Circle mage, or a Warden-mage with years of experience.

Well. The Warden-mage was right out, if she wanted to come out of this with a profit. Circle mages were in the middle of their own problems right now. That left a Keeper, and Keepers tended not to do favors for non-elves.

On the other hand, Merrill _might_. Keeper-trained, lots of experience with demons, and no clan to call her own...yes. Though she hadn't seen Merrill since Kirkwall, she knew the city elves were tight-knit. Merrill wouldn't have stayed in Kirkwall with the city at ground zero. Not for long. The Chantry in an uproar would have made it too dangerous after a while. So where would she go? Another Dalish clan? This might be something to send Zevran after - he wasn't Dalish, but he _was_ an elf, and had Dalish facial tattoos. 

There wasn't a treasure in Thedas worth trying to dock in Kirkwall, though. Even if that _would_ be where Merrill's trail began. But thanks to her time with the Champion, she _did_ know where Kirkwall's mage underground had its escape routes. And checking those wouldn't require docking at Kirkwall itself. And Zevran could seek out the Dalish camps.

Only not right now. Her lips curled in a faint amused smile at the enthusiastic sounds of the elf improving the morale of her crew. Busy man. Isabela settled for melting a set of silver goblets down into nicely anonymous ingots. Lovers she could get for free; the things she _really_ wanted from life took money.

~*~

"You do realize, of course, that I have no experience with the Dalish," was Zevran's wry comment the next morning, after they'd loaded their gains onto the ship.

"They've got systems in place for dealing with flat-ears," said Isabela. "The main thing is they're not likely to try to kill you before you've said hello, which is more than I can say for anyone else on board under the circumstances. Merrill was thrown out of her own clan, and they aren't likely to have taken her back. But they tend to keep track even so."

Zevran's lips pursed. "And the reason she was cast out was?" he asked, with nothing but innocent curiosity in his tone.

"She got a little too close to a pride demon," said Isabela. At Zevran's skeptical look, she added, "It got her clan's Keeper killed. The Dalish have no love for her, but she learned better after that. She'll be looking for a haven and she's got skills we need."

Zevran shrugged. "So long as she is not interested in involving us in the war, I believe we can do business," he said. "You will be here, then?"

Isabela shook her head. "I'll check out the mage underground. A lot of mages are sheltered types, they won't want to fight. But they don't like being prisoners of the Templars either. Kirkwall's got a working underground railroad for mages that just want to get away, and Merrill's very likely to have used it. She may have told someone where she's gone, if she's not still running it. She's the sort to."

Zevran slanted a Look at Isabela, clicking his tongue with a smile. "The sort to rescue kittens and little baby birds?"

Isabela just nodded. "The only reason she and Anders never got along is she's a bit too much _like_ him. And the Templars will be after her for that reason. Since she can't hide with the Dalish for long, her only real hope is with renegade mages or with groups like ours. She's got no interest in human laws or human rules, so that should work in our favor."

Zevran blinked, apparently intrigued. "And this is the Dalish way, is it?"

"Beats me, but it's hers," Isabela shrugged, amused that _this_ was what caught his interest. "She was on track to be a Keeper, so if you have questions she'd probably enjoy answering them." The bits about what Merrill could do with plants and animals...well. He could learn the scary side of Dalish later. Knowing Zevran, he would not require any advance encouragement to find a delicate ex-Dalish sorceress intriguing. As long as Merrill wasn't on one of her downswings. The girl had the style of a _plank_. But Isabela was fairly sure that she had the power to handle whatever it was lurking in the ruins. Or at least she'd be able to tell it was time to run before it was too late.

~*~

The route was not the most direct, but by sea it couldn't be. This suited everyone concerned just fine, as it meant the only real danger for most of the trip were official kingdom patrol ships, rather than warships.

In Antivan ports, they traded ingots for jewels - far lighter than melted metal. In Rivain, they contacted the Gray Wardens and sold the armor they'd collected to curious but quite interested buyers, taking on more gemstones for their chest of profits, and using some of it to acquire improved defenses, for south of Rivain was where things started heating up.

The war was centered around Kirkwall, still. Once past Llomerynn, Antivan and Rivaini ships would be entangled in the war, Chantry vessels, and ships from all over Ferelden and the Free Marches.

Isabela gave her crew some shore leave in Rivain before then, with a share of the profits so far to spend however they chose. 

"They will go the distance?" asked Zevran one evening, as the last of them took his pouch of gems and headed into port. "It will not be pleasant sailing now."

"They know we left most of the loot behind," said Isabela. "Spending a fraction of it now will just leave them hungrier for more, and they know the key to getting it is getting a mage that can work with us. The closer we get to Kirkwall, the more likely it is that a mage we meet has combat experience - even if they didn't want to pick any up - and if they want to get away at all a strong desire to do whatever it takes to get out of the troubles. Including work under less than optimal conditions."

Zevran just blinked. The idea was apparently not how he would have thought of it. "And they will fight all the way to Kirkwall to get a mage? Not think to perhaps look for a mage _here_?"

"Oh, if a drunk one happens to land in their lap tonight, I'm sure we'll hear about it," drawled Isabela, amused. "But we're talking about people who can't talk to the sex they want to sleep with without cash in hand, Zevran. Their skill at persuasion is bribe or threat. Everything that takes more, they leave to me."

Zevran offered his arm, with a smile that did not in any way appear to mock. "Well then. Shall _we_ , persuasive devils that we are, descend and perhaps find word of this elf maid you are seeking? Perhaps we do not need to sail all the way to Kirkwall, after all."


End file.
